Shroutt?”
“He’s been missing three hours!” the sergeant burst out. “He might be smoking weed out back of the high school—”
“Except that he’s an eighth grader, not a high school student,” Anna pointed out. She almost felt sorry for him.
“Or panhandling in the Walmart parking lot. Playing Gears of War 3 at some buddy’s house!”
“Then why did he leave a note saying he was taking off?” she asked.
He glowered at her. “What note? You didn’t say anything about a note.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“What did the note say?” interjected a too-reasonable voice with a velvet undertone.
Pretending the sight and sound of Reid Sawyer didn’t make her quiver, Anna held herself stiff. “That we shouldn’t worry. He knew a good place to go.” Guilt and a shimmer of fear erased her momentary sexual awareness. “His stuff is all gone.”
Captain Sawyer had been reading every expression as it crossed her face. She couldn’t seem to look away from his eyes, which she concluded were an unusual shade of deep green.
“The boy’s name?” he asked.
“Yancey Launders. And no, his name doesn’t help. Kids make fun of it. He was born in Alabama. I’m told Yancey is a more common name in the Deep South.”
“He likely to be heading for Alabama?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said wearily. “He has a grandfather down there. That would be the one who kicked his mother out because she was pregnant and he didn’t want anything to do with her kind of trash. After she died, the grandfather was contacted. In his own words, he refused to have anything to do with some bastard kid whose father could be an ex-con or even racially mixed for all he knew.”
The captain made a sound in the back of his throat. “The boy know this?”
“His mother apparently believed heart and soul that her daddy would relent eventually and let her and Yancey back into Eden. Yancey said she talked all the time about the farm.”
“We’re a long way from Alabama.”
She knew what he was saying. “She drifted. Yancey has been in a dozen schools or more already. I guess there was always a man, and wherever the current one went, she went, too, and dragged her son along. Whoever the last man was, he didn’t want a twelve-year-old boy once she died.”
“So this Yancey became a ward of the court.”
“Yes. This is his second foster home. He has struggled,” she admitted. “The other boys in the home make fun of him.”
The police captain merely looked at her.
“I was trying to find something more suitable,” she said defensively, even as guilt dug in its claws. She’d known that poor, sad boy was ready to crack. She’d just believed she had longer.
The unnervingly emotionless gaze switched to the desk sergeant. “Do I need to involve Captain Cooper?”
Sergeant Shroutt sighed. “No, sir.”
Reid’s pleasant and yet disquietingly inscrutable eyes met Anna’s once again. “You can give a description, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have a meeting.”
The words almost stuck in her throat, but she got them out. “Thank you.”
His mouth curved into a smile that was oddly sweet, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re very welcome.”
She watched as he strolled away, seemingly in no hurry but, with those long legs, crossing the lobby quickly and disappearing into an elevator that seemed to sense his approach and open for his convenience without him so much as pushing the button.
Anna turned back to the desk sergeant and realized he had been watching the new captain, too.
She could feel his resentment when he produced a form from behind the counter and said, “Please repeat the boy’s name, ma’am.”
At least he was apparently planning to be polite, probably because he was afraid of Captain Reid Sawyer. Who could blame him? She’d been intimidated, and she was willing to take on anyone to protect the children who were her responsibility. Thus her unpopularity in too many quarters.
“Yancey Launders,” she repeated and began to give a description.
Fortunately, she was unlikely to have anything to do with Captain Reid Sawyer in the future. Even if one of her kids was murdered—or murdered someone—she’d be dealing with one of Captain Sawyer’s detectives, not the great man himself. She hoped. Anna didn’t like anyone who made her feel vulnerable, however fleetingly.
* * *
INTERESTING WOMAN, REID thought as the elevator doors closed, shutting off his last view of Ms. Anna Grant, social worker. It was her voice as much as what she had been saying that had caught his attention as he’d passed by the front counter. It had been an intriguing combination of martinet and seductress, both crisp and throaty. On hearing it, he’d had a fleeting fantasy of a school principal who ruled her fiefdom with an iron will, but went home to shed the gray suit and reveal black lace. He had been compelled to find out what the owner of that voice looked like.
Now he knew, although he kind of doubted she wore black lace, or whether it would suit her if she did. She looked about seventeen, although she must be in her late twenties to early thirties to have the kind of job she did. He wondered if she ever used her apparent youth to disarm opponents. His mouth curved at the thought. No, he thought it was safe to say Anna Grant was a woman who would despise the idea of employing subterfuge to get her way.
The elevator doors glided open and he strolled down the hall toward his office, nodding at a couple of people as he passed, but still thinking about the social worker.
Ghost-gray eyes were her greatest beauty. She’d probably been blonde as a kid, but her hair had darkened to a shade between honey and brown, straight and worn shoulder length and tucked behind her ears, nothing unusual except that it was thick and shiny. His fingers had tingled for a moment as he imagined the texture, a reaction he’d tamped down quickly. Ms. Grant was medium height or taller, but with a slight build. Almost...delicate, which contradicted a personality he judged to be bossy, even abrasive. Maybe caring, too, or maybe she was just the rigid kind who wanted everyone and everything in their place, and who didn’t accept no as an answer. She had definitely terrorized Sergeant Shroutt. Amusement awakened again; Reid doubted she’d needed his intervention, but as he’d walked toward her, he’d heard enough to ensure he gave it. Whatever her motivation, she was worried enough about that boy to raise hell and keep raising it until he had the help he needed.
Satisfied by his conclusion, Reid greeted the temp serving as his personal assistant until he hired a permanent one. He entered his office, stripping off his suit coat, and was surprised to realize he hadn’t succeeded in dismissing Ms. Grant from his thoughts. Instead, he wondered what she did wear under her businesslike slacks and blazer. Serviceable white? Scarlet satin? Sweetly feminine petal-pink with tiny lace flowers?
He grinned as he sank into his desk chair. Probably not sweetly feminine anything. That’d be like dressing a Doberman in a tutu.
But, damn it, he’d gotten himself half-aroused imagining her slender, pale body next thing to naked.
He booted up his computer and frowned at the lit monitor. He knew what his trouble was; he hadn’t hooked up with a woman in... He couldn’t remember, a bad sign. Six months? Eight months? He cast his mind back. Good God, longer than that. This was the middle of March. It was last spring when he’d been seeing that assistant prosecutor. Courtney something. Coulson. That was it. Unlike Ms. Grant, Courtney had had generous curves. Like most women, though,